The Edge of Breaking
by FrostInTheWarren
Summary: Jack's first memories were of cold, dark, and fear. Then Pitch found him. Three hundred years later, Jack's locked in a battle for his freedom, and discovering that inner freedom and outer freedom are two very different things. (Or: Pitch does bad things, Jack learns to love himself, and Bunny has patience.) Nature of Belief series spin-off AU. Need not have read. Dark themes.
1. Anybody out there?

**Alright, here we go! Introducing the muse I call Hidden Jack.**

**Reminder, this is a spin-off of The Nature of Belief/The Coming of Someday. You don't need to have read those to understand what's happening, but I think it would add it the experience. This is basically a 'what if?' the Man in the Moon hadn't made Jack invisible to everyone? **

**Good luck.**

**Warning: This story is going to have dark themes. It just is. I'll warn for the chapters where it's bad, but just be on the lookout if that makes you uncomfortable.**

* * *

Like bone to the human body, and the axle to the wheel, and the song to a bird, and air to the wing, thus is liberty the essence of life. Whatever is done without it is imperfect.

-Jose Marti, d. 1895, quoted by William Pfaff, _The New Yorker,_ May 27, 1985

* * *

**Past:**

"You are Jack Frost," the voice said.

The words echoed in his mind as Jack touched down outside what seemed to be a little village, giddy and bubbling with energy. He was Jack Frost. He didn't know how the voice knew that, or why Jack himself _hadn't_ known that, but the voice had been so calm and warm that he listened.

It had been so dark, so _cold_ and _frightening_. Jack had had to relearn what having air in his lungs felt like, if he'd ever known in the first place. He couldn't remember ever breathing before now. Had it always felt so glorious? Felt like living?

There were other things, too. Little things he wasn't sure how he knew. If he touched that tree it would feel rough and familiar under his palms. If he took a breath he'd smell the bark and sharp cold of ice. How did he know what the tree would feel like? How did he even know it was a _tree_, or that it had bark that smelled like comfort? Until coming out of the lake, he didn't think he'd ever even _seen_ a tree before.

He was glad for it, though. He didn't want to imagine what it would have been like if he'd come out of the lake completely new, with nothing that was familiar.

Jack brushed snow from himself, staff clutched in one hand. The staff was the most familiar thing yet. The grooves and notches felt so _right_ in his grip; it was almost like he'd put them there himself. He liked holding it.

It was with this feeling that Jack entered the village, laughing and joyful as he greeted everyone he came across. Eventually he bent towards a running child. "Excuse me, could you tell me where I—"

Oh.

Jack panted, shoulders heaving when the child _passed through him_. Then someone came through him from behind, and he reeled about as another, and another did the same, until he backed out of the village.

Why had they—what was—how had—he was _real!_ Why had they gone through him? Frightened, he crossed the staff—the comforting staff, the familiar staff—over his chest, reassuring himself that he was touching it and it was real so he must also be _real_.

A light snowfall began to fall as he turned from the village. He tugged the ball of energy in him that he'd used earlier to call the wind, and it came as he ordered. It lifted him over the trees, but he landed not too long after halfway to the lake. In his upset he'd had too much trouble stabilizing himself in the wind to fly the entire way.

Jack stumbled through the trees, and it was dark beneath their branches. Patches of moonlight glimmered through in spots; touching on the snow and making it shine. Jack gravitated towards these places as he made his way back to the lake. He calmed his breathing, the steady inhale and exhale soothing the blind panic that had taken hold of him.

Jack came across a larger patch of open moonlight, and he stood within it. He looked up into the night sky, and his eyes found the full brightness of the moon easily. He bit the inside of his lip, and in a small voice asked, "Why?"

He waited a few moments, listening for the warm, gentle voice that had told him his name to come. When it didn't, he blinked in confusion. He frowned. Maybe the Moon just hadn't heard him? He spoke louder, "Why? Why can't they see me?"

The Moon remained silent.

Jack exhaled in frustration. "Why aren't you answering me? You can hear me! I know…I know you can." His last words came out uncertain.

Silence hovered. Jack prepared to yell, when a quiet snap came from behind him. Jack turned, scanning the darkness past the moonlit patch carefully. "Hello?" he called. "Who's there?"

A form separated from the shadows, skin pale with a gray-ish tinge. Bright gold eyes watched him with shock and confusion from a sharp, angular face. Black hair was pushed back on the person's head, just as dark as the long robe he was dressed in.

"Hello!" Jack smiled in relief, and when he realized that the person was looking _at _him, bounced in joy. "Can you see me?"

The man looked Jack over, eyes jumping back to Jack's grinning face every few moments. Realization seeped into his gaze, a slow smile taking over his face. "Jackson," he eventually said.

"Just Jack, actually, Jack Frost." Jack pointed up. "The Moon told me so."

"The Moon?" The man stepped closer, but never entered the moonlight. "Did he say anything else?"

"…no." Jack frowned for a split-second before his grin returned. "Say, how did you know my name was Jack? Well, you said Jackson, but that's close enough I guess…"

"Oh," the man placed a hand over his heart, "we're great friends, you and I."

"Really?" Jack leaned on the staff, tilting his head so the wood pressed to his right temple. "How do you know?"

"The Moon told me so," the man assured, nodding with his words.

"He did?!" Jack jerked his head back, looking up at the Moon with awe. "Why wouldn't he tell _me_?"

The man shrugged, his tone a study in sympathy. "Who knows? I'm afraid the Man in the Moon can be quite short for words most of the time. Why, he hardly _ever_ talks to _me_, and I've known him the longest."

"That's a bit rude."

The man smiled slowly. "It is, isn't it?" He held a hand out to Jack. "Come with me, Jack. I'll take you home."

"Home?"

"With me."

Jack hesitated, unease churning his stomach a bit as he stared at the offered hand. "I'm not sure…I-I don't want to be a burden."

"Not a problem, Jack." The man gold eyes showed nothing but comfort. "I'd be more than happy to have you with me. We are _such_ great friends, after all. Or at least, we will be."

The unease continued churning, but it was overshadowed by Jack's longing for contact with someone who could see him in this world that was both new and familiar. He reached out, but his hand hovered at the edge of the moonlight. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Pitch Black," the man answered, and as Jack's hand finally came out of the moonlight and into his, he smiled sharply. "The Bogeyman."

Pitch closed his fingers over Jack's.

For some reason, the action scared Jack a little more than the cold and the dark. By the time he realized this, it was already too late.

* * *

**Present:**

The boy that stared back at him from the mirror was a pathetic thing, Jack thought. He stared into his own eyes, blue and dull, and it seemed permanently stained under with deep, dark bruises. When was the last time he'd been allowed to sleep without nightmares? It had to have been a few months, at least.

He had bitten his own lips raw, an act he'd been punished for. Pitch didn't like for Jack to bleed. Bite marks and bruises left from grabbing hands and ropes were different, of course. Those were marks of possession. Pitch said they showed their bond. Jack knew better than to protest.

Dressed in a black button up with long sleeves and black trousers, Jack's skin was too pale in comparison. Looking himself over, though he couldn't see below the waist, sitting at the vanity as he was, Jack decided he seemed washed out. No, more than that, Jack observed in the glass.

The boy in the mirror looked _dead_.

Not for the first time, Jack found he hated that boy.

He took a shallow breath, and was almost relieved that he could still breathe. When had breathing stopped feeling like living?

He sighed, and closed his eyes, trying to abate the nerves that trembled in the back of his mind. Soon, he assured himself. The plan had already been set. Three hundred years, and after today he'd be free. So long as Rime kept to his promise, and there weren't any big complications, he'd finally be able to rid himself of this place. He'd practiced the words over and over already. He was sure he could remember them correctly.

There was a brief moment of worry as he remembered the contingency his plan relied on. Only when the need is great, and the intentions are good, the book had said. Jack reassured himself that his intentions were good, and his need more than great. It would work.

It _had_ to work.

"Jack?"

Jack glanced at the doorway in the mirror, and Pitch smiled back at him. "Yes?"

"Are you almost ready?" Pitch crossed their bedroom, and placed his hands on Jack's shoulders. "You must be excited to get out."

"I am," Jack said neutrally.

"You've been such a good little Consort," Pitch noted. "I'm glad I can reward you this way."

Jack automatically responded. "Thank you."

Pitch nodded. He picked up the brush from the vanity top. "Have you brushed your hair yet?" Jack shook his head. "Then I shall do it for you."

He began brushing Jack's hair, an act that was not uncommon. Pitch enjoyed taking over these simple grooming activities, and not letting Jack do them himself. Pitch claimed it was also bonding. At one time, Jack might have even believed him.

The brush was the only sound in the room for a while, its rhythmic strokes gentle on his scalp as it straightened out his short, unruly hair.

As he attended his task, Pitch began to speak. "You remember the rules, don't you?" Jack nodded. "Recite them for me."

"I am not to speak."

"Good. What else?"

"I am not to leave your side."

"_Very_ good, Jack. And the last rule?"

"I am not to take off the cloak."

Pitch made a pleased sound. "You are such a good Consort, Jack." Pitch locked gazes with Jack in the mirror. "Do you remember why we have the rules?"

The words were natural, practiced, constant. He'd said them too many times before for them not to be. "Because I am a danger to others. If I'm not careful, I might accidentally hurt them. Or they might want to hurt me."

"Why would they want to hurt you, Jack?" Pitch asked calmly.

"Because they would fear me, and think I'm a monster. And because I'm beautiful, and they would be jealous."

"Yes, they would." Pitch set the brush down. He cupped Jack's chin in his left hand, and tilted his head back. In this position, Jack was forced to look up at Pitch. He threaded his right hand through Jack's hair, gripping the strands gently, but firmly. "And the final reason?"

"Because you protect me from them, and I can trust you."

Pitch smiled. "I only do what's best for you." He paused. "Do you love me Jack?"

"I love you." Jack wondered vaguely when the word had lost meaning to him.

Pitch kissed Jack's forehead, and released him, but only after he'd skimmed his left hand down Jack's throat. "Finish getting ready," he ordered, "we'll be leaving soon."

Pitch paused in his exit, pointing to the bed and the garment laying on it with an air of warning. It was a cloak. Pitch had gotten it especially for Jack. It was large, thick, black, and hooded. It would hide Jack's body, and with the hood up it would shield even more of him. Unless he looked directly at someone, they would be unable to see his face when he wore it. Considering Jack's tendency to look at the ground, such an action seemed unlikely. "Do not forget the cloak, Jackson," he reminded.

"I won't.

Pitch left. Jack looked back into the mirror, and the dead boy stared back.

He wanted nothing more than to break it.


	2. I'm out on the edge

**Apologies for the lateness-but due to life being a bitch and loading me down with projects and papers and worries you can expect updates to be closer to 1-2 weeks apart instead of the once a week schedule I usually keep.**

**But enough of my whining.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Once a word has been allowed to escape, it can never be recalled.

-Horace, _Epistles_, Book I, 20 B.C.

* * *

**Past:**

It started with excuses.

Jack had been with Pitch a week. Pitch had shown Jack all around his underground home, from the room they'd be sharing (with two beds, but Pitch had explained the proximity was for Jack's own safety) to the great library with rows upon rows of towering shelves that disappeared into the darkness of the high ceiling. The same library where they now lounged by the single fireplace, surrounded by armchairs, couches, and low tables.

Jack rolled onto his back on the plush black cushioned couch, tilting his head back. Pitch sat beside next to him, and Jack's hair brushed the side of Pitch's leg when he moved. He looked upside-down at the other, who quietly read a small book bound in dark green leather. "Pitch? I want to go outside."

Pitch never looked away from the pages of his book. "You can't," Pitch reasoned, so very certain, "it's dangerous out there, Jack."

"But why? Why is it dangerous?"

"Oh Jack, there are many reasons." Pitch set the book on his lap, fingers reaching for Jack's forehead as he met curious blue eyes with gold. He brushed Jack's hair from his eyes with soothing fingers. "There are many who would hurt you. Your magic is dangerous Jack."

Jack sat up, twisting around so that he kneeled on the cushions facing Pitch. "But I don't use it! You took my staff for safekeeping so that I _wouldn't_ hurt people!"

"But they won't care about that." Pitch cupped Jack's face in his hands, forcing the boy to meet his bright gold eyes. "They won't stop to consider your selflessness. They will see you and think _monster_. That's all they'll ever see you as, Jack."

"I'm _not_," Jack said emphatically, "a monster."

"_I_ know you aren't Jack." Pitch's thumb traced the underside of Jack's left eye. "And the best way to prove that is to stay out of sight, where it's impossible to prove them right. Manny told me to find you so I could protect you, after all. You should listen to me."

Jack bit the inside of his lip. "…you're right. If Manny says so, then…I'll listen to you."

"I only care for your safety, Jack." Pitch smiled softly. "Everything I do, I do for you. Besides, there are many out there who would be jealous if they looked upon you. You are very beautiful, Jack."

Jack looked to the side, flattered and bashful. "Thank you, but wouldn't handsome be a better word?"

"No," Pitch denied. "Beautiful."

And Jack let it go. It was just a word, after all.

* * *

A month later found them in the same place. Jack stared into the fireplace blankly, curled up in a ball on the opposite side of the couch from Pitch.

He was content to continue like that, until Pitch sounded a heavy sigh and curled his fingers around Jack's ankle. Jack lifted his head. He looked down his body to Pitch, who was watching him with lidded eyes.

"You still want to go outside?" Pitch asked.

Jack's eyes widened, and he sat up. "Yes!"

Pitch sighed again, alerting Jack to how much trouble he must have been causing Pitch, and guilt churned beneath his excitement. He felt bad troubling his protector, but…

Pitch's home was dark. There was no natural light that existed in such a place. It was also large, with too many connecting caverns and tunnels for him to ever navigate easily. Despite how much space there was, somehow Jack felt more and more cramped as time went on. He needed to get out. He wanted to _move_, he wanted to—

…he wanted to _fly._

Jack quickly shuttered that thought away. He had discovered he could only fly with his staff, and he wasn't allowed to touch that. It made him dangerous, after all.

Pitch squeezed Jack's ankle a bit too gently to be called tight, and nodded. "Alright then. We can go out later."

Jack grabbed Pitch's sleeve. "You mean it? You promise?"

Pitch nodded. He let go of Jack's ankle, and instead ran his fingers through Jack's hair. "I promise."

Jack lurched forward and hugged him. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"

Pitch's hands settled on Jack's back. "It's troublesome and will cause me some difficulty, but since you want it, that's fine."

The guilt came back. "I'm sorry I'm causing you problems."

"As long as you realize that, it's alright."

Pitch's smile felt a little sharp against the top of his head, but Jack didn't pull back to look.

* * *

Jack got his chance to go outside a week later.

"Pitch, look!" Jack spread his arms and legs in the snow, moving them back and forth, and hopped out weightlessly. "An angel!"

Pitch raised a brow dryly. "I see."

Jack's smile slipped a bit. He turned back, and continued playing by the lake he'd first come out of, which was close to the tunnel entrance of Pitch's home. Jack built small snowmen and castles that were more piles than structure. As he played a vague disenchantment settled over him. But it wasn't as fun playing by himself, was it? Pitch wouldn't play, though; he didn't find it fun like Jack did.

Huh. It was the strangest thing, but playing like this, even with Pitch nearby…was kind of lonely, wasn't it?

Snow began to fall in fat, soft looking puffs. Jack turned his face up, and watched the sky. The snow that fell on his face took longer to melt than on a normal person. He blinked when the flakes clung to his eyelids, brushing them away with the small movement.

"Jack," Pitch called, "it's time to go back."

Jack's hands lay limp at his sides, and he continued looking up into the sky. Lonely or not, he didn't want to go back. Not just yet.

His lips parted slightly. "But…I don't…"

"Jack," and Pitch's voice was lower now, more authoritative, "it's dangerous, remember? It's time to go."

"…okay."

Jack went to Pitch's side, Pitch's hand falling naturally to Jack's shoulder as he steered them from the lake. Pitch was very touch-y with him, Jack noticed. He didn't mind it, though. Pitch was his only bond in this world. It was natural they'd become close. It made him a bit uncomfortable sometimes, but he could endure it for Pitch, who did so much for him.

As they left, Jack glanced back, just once.

What Jack didn't realize then was that these outside trips would lessen over the next few years, until eventually, they disappeared entirely. A time would come when he would berate himself for not looking back more often.

* * *

**Present:**

Aster tugged at the positioning of his bandolier, relieved he'd gotten away with not wearing something formal. From his position at the back of the hall, he looked around the grand ballroom North'd set up for the gathering. The once-a-century event was mainly held as a way for more powerful spirits to keep tabs on one another and build acquaintanceships, but Aster figured it was a load of hogwash anyway.

Everyone knew that if you _really_ wanted to know what was going on in the mythical world, you just had to keep one ear to the grapevine. And Aster had a very sturdy grapevine, and very good hearing. Which is why he knew who to expect to arrive to the night's gathering, and was keeping an eye out just for him.

"A good turnout this year, yes?" North clapped Aster's shoulder with affectionate friendliness. "Yeti have done wonders keeping up with snack demands!"

Aster nodded. "Biggest haul in centuries, I'd say." His eyes sharpened on a few members of the crowd. "Though not quite the types we're used to."

North's jovial face sobered. He as well noticed the new additions to the usual crowd. "It is not often we have blood elves and poltergeists for guests."

"It's not often we have necromancers or Baba Yaga herself in attendance, either," Aster added neutrally, though his eyes were narrowed. "And we both know who we have to blame for the additions."

Just then the doors at the front of the hall were opened, and the evening's final guests were admitted. Amongst them was Pitch Black.

"Speak of the Nightmare King," Aster muttered sourly.

North nodded somberly, but paused in the middle of the motion. He squinted his eyes, leaning forward slightly. "That is Pitch, but, who is that with him?"

Aster, who'd been focused on Pitch, spotted the person North spoke of. Slight in stature, hidden entirely by a thick black cloak, the person stood a few steps behind Pitch. He couldn't get a good look at the face either, with their head turned down as it was, and the cloak's hood blocking everything else. His ears pulled back as he tried to pinpoint who it might be.

"It couldn't be…," North murmured.

Aster turned slightly in North's direction, but kept his eyes on the newcomer. "What? You know who it is, North?"

"I'm not certain," North cautioned, "but, it could be his Consort."

Aster stiffened. "You think so?"

North's gaze on him was calm and steady. "Bunny…" North knew Aster's feelings for the Nightmare King's Consort were less than pleasant.

In fact, the simplest thing to call them was _hatred_.

It was a situation unique to Aster alone. No one else had ever _seen_ Pitch's Consort in order to have developed any kind of true opinion on the person. Pitch kept the boy guarded obsessively. According to Pitch his Consort, Jack Frost, was of a cripplingly shy and fragile disposition, and he feared for Jack's safety outside of their home. Pitch bragged of Jack's beauty regularly, lauded his Consort with praise to those who would hear. To any who listened, Pitch was quite the doting lover.

But Aster had reason more than any to hate Jack Frost. It had only been once, and he'd only seen the other's bare feet and cloaked body as he disappeared into the forest with Pitch in 1968, but after the events of that day…

Yes, E. Aster Bunnymund had _very_ good reason to hate Jack Frost.

The other Guardians, as far as he knew, shared in his dislike after he'd told them of the incident, but not to the same degree.

Aster walked toward Pitch.

"Bunny," North stopped him briefly, "where are you going?"

"To greet our guests," Aster answered coolly.

North made no move to dissuade him, other than to add, "Please do not start a fight."

"Don't worry North," he reassured. "I won't."

North watched him go, worry lines on a face unsuited to such things.

* * *

Jack was careful to follow Pitch's orders. Don't speak, cloak on, never leave his side. He watched the ground to be extra safe. He had to keep Pitch happy with him if he wanted this to work. They couldn't leave early. They had to stay, at least until Rime arrived.

Jack listened with half an ear as Pitch spoke to various spirits, ignoring the curious whispers that surrounded them.

As someone approached them, Pitch sent a hissed reminder to stay close at Jack over his shoulder.

"Hello, Pitch Black." The voice was elderly, deep, scratchy and female. It carried with it a heavy Slavic accent.

"Baba Yaga," Pitch greeted gently.

"This is the first time I have seen you at one of these gatherings," she said. "And you've brought the elusive Consort with you, even."

"Yes," Pitch hedged, stepping slightly in front of Jack. "I felt it only right he be here to witness one of my greatest triumphs. My presence is a show of power to the Guardians. They could not keep me trapped in the dark any longer."

"Your rise in power these past few centuries has been impressive," Baba Yaga acknowledged.

"They can't stay strong forever. They have become lax over time; where I have only grown, without ever having to take them down. What does that say for the future of those like us, Baba Yaga?"

"Many things," she said quietly. Then she laughed, a sound like scraping metal. "But you should be wary, Pitch Black. Too much confidence is likely to get you killed."

"As you say. Now, my Consort and I must see to refreshments. I shall see you another time."

"You will."

Pitch swept away, and Jack, curious, took the chance to peek at Baba Yaga as he passed by her.

Long white hair in clumped hanks fell across her shoulders, clothed in a long black and red peasant dress. Her face was heavily wrinkled, and in her smile showed rows of iron teeth. Her hands were spindly, her legs boney, and her nails, long and chipped, were dirty with rot at the beds. A sharp nose protruded from her face. Thick eyebrows lined the bottom of her forehead like pale, living things. And her eyes, dark blue and intelligent, were frightfully focused on Jack's.

Jack sucked in a hushed breath, and looked back to at the ground.

He heard Pitch pause ahead of him, and stopped obediently a few paces behind.

"Hello, _Rabbit_."

"Pitch."

Jack's eyes widened. There were only a few people Pitch spoke about with such vitriol in his tone, and only one he called 'Rabbit.' Though he didn't look up to confirm, Jack knew the person before them had to be E. Aster Bunnymund.

"Up to your usual tricks?" Bunnymund said. Jack had never heard an accent quite like that before, but considering the only voices he knew well were Pitch's and Rime's, it was hardly surprising.

"_Me?_ How rude of you, and here I am, a guest. But really, what should I have expected of an animal?"

Bunnymund growled in a way that made Jack tense. His movement must have shifted Bunnymund's attention onto him, because the next words out of his mouth were, "Aren't you going to _introduce_ me to your plus one?"

Silence hovered, and it was with a heavy air of reluctance that Pitch drew Jack to his side with a hand at his lower back. "This is my Consort, Jack Frost."

Jack, remembering the rule not to speak, only nodded, but he snuck a peek at the other. It was only for a moment, and he hadn't seen much, but what he did see were Bunnymund's eyes. Bright emerald green, and lovelier than anything Jack had ever witnessed.

They had also gleamed with a molten hatred that rolled Jack's stomach.

"Say," Bunnymund asked with false curiosity, "weren't you around in '68?"

In an instant, Jack almost wanted to throw up.

"Ah, yes." Pitch spoke with fond chagrin. "You'll have to forgive him that. These things happen, you know."

"Of course." Bunnymund's anger seeped into his words. "You'll have to excuse me. I think people are about to start paying their respects to the host, and North would want all of the Guardians present with him when it starts."

"I understand," Pitch responded genially. As Bunnymund walked away, Pitch's fingers clenched in Jack's back. "You're trembling, Jackson."

Jack bit his lip.

"I told you they would hate you," Pitch whispered.

Jack nodded, but remained quiet.

They fell back into their routine after that. They never did visit the refreshments table, but Jack didn't mind. His nerves grew as the evening wore on, and he didn't think he would have been able to keep anything down, anyway. Jack stayed in place, a few steps behind Pitch, as the Nightmare King mingled.

Eventually Pitch sighed wearily. "I suppose we must pay our regards to the host. How tedious."

Pitch walked leisurely across the hall, and with Jack behind him, didn't notice the change in atmosphere around Jack. Jack's nerves jittered down his spine. This was it. This was the moment.

Someone tapped Jack's back lightly. Rime whispered, "Good luck," and suddenly Jack's staff was being pressed into his hand.

It had happened in barely a moment, but in that single action Jack gained the power to complete his plan.

Pitch stopped before the Guardians, and began to speak words of false greeting, but that didn't matter as much now. Jack halted no more than four feet behind Pitch. He lifted his head fully for the first time that evening, and stared at the back of Pitch's head.

He would rather be free and hated…

In his left hand, Jack formed a sharp sliver of ice. He adjusted his grip on his staff with his right hand, and took a deep breath.

…than hidden and broken.

Jack squeezed his hand around the sharp ice, slashing open his palm, and spun in a swift circle. His blood dotted the ground around him, as he'd wanted it to. Pitch was just turning to look at him when Jack raised his arm and slammed the butt of his staff down. Jack's true magic, so unfamiliar to him, shot through him and to the staff, sending out a burst of ice that cleared a large circle around him.

"To the Guardians of Childhood," he began, his blood beginning to glow on the floor around him, "I beseech a Blood Rite of Protection."

* * *

**And here we go.**


	3. But I miss it now

**Yeah, I'm not even gonna try and explain the lateness away. **  
**School comes first guys, sorry. Honors classes are tough.**  
**I'm not out of fandom or anything like that, so don't worry! This story is still being worked on and updated. (Even if it means outlining in class when I should be taking notes. xD)**

* * *

There is a time for departure, even when there is no certain place to go.

-Tennessee Williams, _Camino Real_, 1953

* * *

**Past:**

"You snuck out?"

Jack flinched at Pitch's tone, and tugged at his fingers nervously. "I'm _sorry,_ okay? I just…" Jack clenched his hands into fists in front of him, and couldn't build the courage to look up at Pitch. "I've been in here for so long…you never take me outside anymore. I just wanted to see the sun."

Silence hovered for a few moments, until Pitch sighed heavily, wearily. "You'll never understand unless I show you, will you?"

"Huh?" Jack finally glanced up when Pitch grabbed his upper arm, not tight, but firm. Pitch pulled Jack forward, and he stumbled the first few steps as he was led into the room with the cages hanging from the ceiling. Jack spared them a look, and then Pitch was pulling him down a hallway he'd never visited, hidden in shadows as it was. The hall was lit sparsely, a few candle sconces scattered along the entire length.

"Pitch?" Jack asked nervously. "Where are we going?"

"You scared me, Jackson," Pitch explained calmly. He wouldn't look at Jack, disappointment slicking his words, and Jack's sudden guilt rolled his stomach. "But I can't expect you to understand my fear, so I am going to show you how frightened I was."

They stopped in front of a door that blended perfectly with the wall. Jack wouldn't have even known there _was_ a door if Pitch hadn't pushed it open. Jack looked into the black space beyond, not a single speck of light revealing what was in the room itself.

His eyes scanned the darkness, wary. "What's this?"

"Punishment, Jackson." Pitch pushed Jack into the room. He stumbled and tripped, catching himself on his hands and knees. He spun on one knee, looking back at the door just as Pitch was closing it. "The only way for you to understand how afraid _I_ was, is for you to experience it yourself."

The door shut, and Jack was left in total darkness. "Pitch?"

Jack stood, feeling dust cling to his knees and feet. He took a few steps forward, hands in front of him. The darkness was disorienting, and confused him. Was he walking straight? He wasn't sure.

"Pitch?" he called once more. "You aren't seriously going to keep me here, right?" If he could just find the door…

Something touched his back.

He screamed and spun, waving his arms frantically around him. "Who's there?" Without light he had trouble establishing balance, uncertain where to place his feet, and as he grew more frightened the more disoriented he became. "Who's there?!"

He backed up slowly, hoping to eventually find a wall to orient himself with. When after twenty steps (that he counted in his mind like precious gemstones) he had still yet to find a wall, he began to think that there was no end to the room. It stretched on and on in the darkness, looming and impossible.

He began to fear that even if Pitch did come back for him, (which he had to, right? Pitch was his protector, his only friend; his friend wouldn't leave him, even if Jack had upset him by sneaking out, right?) he wouldn't be able to see the light from the door when he did. He'd wandered into the room too deep. He wouldn't find his way out.

Pitch would come back to forgive Jack, and Jack wouldn't be there. Jack was lost in the darkness.

Jack's chest felt tight as he continued to grasp at nothing. His breath became stuttery, panicked. He lost his footing and fell to his knees. He scrabbled at the dirt, the only solid thing he could feel in the endless dark. He stayed on the ground, crawling forward, trying to find the wall.

"Pitch?" His voice was high, frightened, too loud. Something brushed the bottom of his foot, and he jerked forward. "Who's there?! Pitch? Pitch, if that's you, please, I'm sorry!"

He curled into a ball, fearful of whatever was in the darkness with him. It would have helped if his voice at least echoed in the smothering quiet, so he could confirm with himself the size of the room, but it didn't. There was nothing but the silence, and he began to think he could hear the sound of his own terrified heart beating in his ears.

At that point it didn't matter that he'd been angry with Pitch for throwing him in the room. Any anger he'd had had faded in the presence of his fear. Now, the only thing he wanted was for Pitch to return and take him from this place. He wanted light; he wanted _comfort_.

A sound pierced the air, high and desperate, and it was only the ache in his throat that made Jack aware it was his own frightened keening.

"Pitch?" he sobbed, tears gathering in his eyes. "Pitch, please, I won't do it again, promise I won't. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

There was no answer. Jack pulled his legs to his chest, curling into a ball as tight as he could, and buried his face in his knees.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been like that before the scraping sound of the door opening came.

Jack's face shot up, dirt, tears, and snot messing his cheeks. Ten feet away, light came in through the door as Pitch held it open. "Jack?" he called.

Jack whined, relief choking him as he scrambled for the door. He threw himself into Pitch's arms, sobbing. "I'm so sorry; I'm so sorry."

Pitch closed the door to the room, and sank to the floor in the hallway with Jack. The little light from the sconces was heavenly to Jack's eyes. Jack clung to Pitch's chest, whimpering apologies as Pitch pet his hair and pulled Jack into his lap.

"Do you understand now, how afraid I was? That's how I feel every time you aren't at my side; when you disobey the rules I put down only so I can protect you."

Jack nodded, relaxing under the hands that ran through his hair and up his back. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

Pitch pressed his face to the top of Jack's head, and breathed in deep through his mouth. "Good."

* * *

Jack learned very quickly to obey Pitch's rules. Between the guilt of the trouble his disobedience caused his only friend, and his own fear of the Room, Jack was quick to give in to Pitch's demands, no matter how uncomfortable it secretly made him to do so.

It wasn't long after that first incident that Pitch proposed the nightmares. Just once or twice a week, he promised. Jack's fear would help give Pitch power, after all, and he needed that to protect Jack.

Jack, uncertain but trusting, agreed.

* * *

**Present:**

The pause that followed his declaration gave Jack the opportunity to begin chanting the necessary words to complete the spell. His confidence was bolstered by the fact that it was working at all. As he spoke, the words came foreign from his tongue. It was a language he'd rarely gotten the chance to speak; one he'd spent over forty years teaching himself and practicing over and over in his mind and aloud the few times he'd been left completely alone. He couldn't afford to mess it up now.

"Jackson," Pitch said lowly. He stood just outside the circle of ice and blood on the floor, his eyes dark with anger that didn't show on his face. That anger nearly made Jack falter; it was an anger he'd only seen once before.

"Stop this, Jackson." Pitch's words held a hint of steel, and Jack knew it was the kind that could form razors.

Continuing to chant, Jack shook his head, realizing belatedly that at some point his hood had fallen back. Pitch's lips tightened into a harsh line. Pitch attempted to enter the circle, and was knocked back by an invisible force, keeping him out. A quiet snarl hissed between his teeth.

Relief loosened the chokehold of fear on Jack's chest. It was working. The magic was working. Pitch couldn't enter the circle.

He finished the words. His blood glowed on the floor amidst the ice, bright and imbued with magic. The final syllable of the spell hovered in the air, awaiting an answer from one of the Guardians. Cradling his bleeding hand, Jack searched amongst the Guardians until he locked eyes with a golden gaze that was wholly unlike the one he was used to. Sanderson Mansnoozie, Dreamweaver and Guardian, stared back.

* * *

Sandy knew this magic, and from the glance he sent at Aster, it looked like the Pooka did as well. Old, rare, created in times long before this winter spirit had even been a thought, he and Aster _would _be the only ones who recognized it.

But above all, meant to be used in only the direst, most desperate of circumstances. Blood Rites were very serious pieces of magic, and a Blood Rite of Protection even more so. This spell came with a failsafe to keep it from being abused; it would only work if the caster was in need of urgent, immediate protection.

And in that moment it was working full force for Jack Frost, Consort of the Nightmare King.

"Jackson," Pitch beguiled, hands held up soothingly. "Stop this, darling. We can go home and forget this ever happened."

Jack never looked at him, keeping his eyes locked with Sandy's. That, more than anything, was telling. Sandy made to go forward, but paused when beside him, Aster made the first move forward.

* * *

For a moment Jack feared that none of the Guardians would respond, until of all people, the Easter Bunny approached the circle.

"From what," Bunny said seriously, the green eyes Jack remembered from the single peek he'd taken from under his hood burning on his face, "do you seek protection from?"

Jack released a shuddering breath. "Pitch Black."

"Jack," Pitch cut in sharply.

Jack ignored him. Bunny shared a focused look with the other Guardians. He turned back to Jack and nodded. "We will grant it."

Light flashed, and when it faded, so did the glow from Jack's blood. Pitch immediately strode into the circle, reaching for Jack, only to be forced to a stop three feet away by the magic of the Blood Rite. He stared down at Jack, and only now did Jack finally stare back. The silence that had dominated since Jack began his ritual was broken as chatter broke out around the room.

Quietly, so only Jack would hear him, Pitch murmured, "You will regret doing this, Jackson."

Pitch swept away from him, the crowd parting for him. He left with only the sound of the heavy doors closing behind him and the stranded Consort to ever imply he'd been there. Jack clutched his hands to his chest, dropping his staff as a surprised gasp spilled past his lips.

It had worked.

_It had worked._

(But for only so long, his mind reminded, and he ignored it.)

"I am thinking," North boomed, "it is time for night to end, yes?" He clapped his big hands together, the sound like a thunderclap in the room, and smiled at the guests. "Thank you for coming! We are seeing you at next gathering."

He and the yetis that manned the refreshment tables began herding people out, some more resistant than others to be moved. Many of them stared at Jack as they went, fascinated, none of them ever having seen the face of Pitch's mysterious Consort before.

When the room finally cleared, the Guardians took the chance to approach Jack, avoiding the patches of ice and blood on the floor.

"This will have to be cleaned later," North mumbled.

Toothiana fluttered in front of Jack. "So, you're Jack Frost," she said, looking him over curiously.

Jack nodded. "I am."

She took a breath. "Well, Jack, perhaps we should discuss this further in one of North's sitting rooms."

Jack opened his mouth to agree, but was cut off by another voice coming from the open doors.

"Actually, I have some business with him first, if you don't mind."

Jack turned around, a tiny smile on his face. "Rime."

The winter sprite grinned lips that were only a shade darker than his skin sharply, spiky white hair tipped with unforgiving ice. Rime strode into the room confidently, nodding his head with healthy respect at the Guardians. He paused in front of Jack. "I'm glad everything went well."

Jack smiled gratefully. "It wouldn't have if not for your help."

"About that…" Rime's eyes narrowed with his smile. "I'd like to collect my payment."

Jack's face became blank with the ease of flipping a card. "You absolutely won't change your mind?"

"You know what I want, Jack."

There was something sad in the set of Jack's mouth, and the lidding of his eyes. "I do," he admitted.

There was a hush burdened by the weight of unspoken years hanging between them, and a shared resignation. Jack had known Rime for decades, had based his plan around the other's cooperation. There was a time when Jack would have considered them friends.

But friends were not something common with winter sprites, and when Rime realized exactly what his feelings for Jack were developing to be, he'd decided to ask for the only price that would forever sever their ties. The only thing Jack had miraculously managed to save of himself.

His first kiss.

Rime wasn't caring enough to let himself give his heart over to Jack; it wasn't in his nature. But he was selfish enough that he wanted a piece of Jack's—even if that piece was tainted with bitterness.

Rime leaned forward, and when Jack didn't pull away, he continued, until their lips were pressed in a kiss that wasn't light enough to be considered chaste. Jack never reciprocated pressure, and neither closed their eyes, preferring to watch each other. When Rime pulled back, Jack's face was a mixture of anger and regretful sadness.

"This will be the last time I see you," Jack said.

"I know," Rime accepted easily. He smiled a touch fondly, and then walked towards the door. He waved over his shoulder as he left. "Goodbye, Jack."

Jack watched him go. "Goodbye, Rime."

The doors were closed behind Rime, and Jack stared at his feet morosely for a moment before closing his eyes. He took a somber breath, and when he looked back at the Guardians he was calm, any sign he'd been upset hidden behind a blank expression.

"So," he said, "you wanted to talk?"

* * *

**Cliffhanger, but also the resolution of Rime. Don't worry about him too much, he's only semi-important to the plot, and his part's pretty much done now. **  
**Thank you for being patient with my updating. I hope you enjoyed! :D**


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